Delayed Reaction
by playswithworms
Summary: Protectobot Beginnings AU - In which First Aid is in need of snuggles.


Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N _It's been a very busy spring, but I've got a few P-bot snippets that still managed to get themselves written - I'll be putting them up here and there as I get a moment. They kind of hop around in time, but I think they stand alone fairly well. Let me know if something doesn't make sense!  
_

First Aid woke suddenly, cold and trembling to his core, despite the warm presence of his brothers. He muted his vocalizer against the whimper that wanted to escape. Shhh. Quiet. Don't wake them, don't make a sound, not a ripple, tuck everything away in the quiet place where no one could find him. Far away, don't hurt them. Deep dark burrow down. He was standing at the door, shivering, when he remembered. He had promised.

"I can't help it," he'd told Hot Spot, after the last time. "I don't even know I'm doing it."

Hot Spot had wrapped himself more firmly around him, mind and body, crushing close, and he welcomed it, pressed back, firming the boundaries of his self. It held him together so he wouldn't fly apart again.

"Find a way. I don't want to ever spend another cycle like this, searching for you, finding you in some dark corner like…like a wounded turbofox looking for a place to deactivate."

First Aid could feel it through their gestalt bond, how frantic with worry Hot Spot had been, still was. "I'm sorry," he'd whispered brokenly to Hot Spot's chestplates.

It didn't happen very often. Only when things were quiet. When there were no patients in the medbay who needed him. When the calm he maintained through a thousand horrors finally exacted its price.

"It's ok," Hot Spot had murmured, and the others had pressed in close as well, wrapping him in warmth. It's ok. We're here. "Promise. You hold us together all the other times. It's our job to hold you together when you need us. Promise you'll stop hiding."

"Hot Spot…"

"Promise. If you promise you'll find a way to keep it. Aid…please…"

It was that last part, with Hot Spot's voice breaking, that did it.

"I promise."

So now he turned from the door, remembering. I promised, but...he couldn't do it. It would hurt them. They didn't need his pain. But it would only hurt them more, later. Hot Spot said so. And he had promised.

Hot Spot was sound in recharge. First Aid knelt down next to him, the shivering intensifying until his whole body shook. Hot Spot, he tried to say, but his vocalizer wouldn't cooperate. His hands were clenched into fists, so tight it hurt. They wouldn't uncurl, but he managed to nudge Hot Spot's shoulder a little. Hot Spot. He didn't stir, and First Aid felt soundless whimpers lodge in his throat. Hot Spot was hard to get to recharge, but once he did, he was down for the count. Wake up. Please, Spot, wake up. He tried to nudge again, but everything was frozen, freezing. He couldn't move, if he moved he would shatter. He could only wail, deep inside; his walls were too high, no one could hear him.

From behind him, Streetwise, drawing air through his intakes sharply. "Aid?" There were hands, Streetwise, who could always find him, and then, "Spot, wake up!" Streetwise jabbed, hard, with his elbow, and First Aid gave a sob of relief as Hot Spot's optics powered up. The walls came down then; the storm swept through them all.

"I stayed," he mumbled, later, exhausted and limp in the storm's wake, wrapped tightly in arms and minds, beginning to feel warm again. "I promised."

"You did," Hot Spot said softly in his audio, squeezing him closer. "I'm proud of you," and he felt the truth of that wash through him, like a big swallow of heated energon. "I'm sorry I was so hard to wake up."

S'alright, he thought at Hot Spot. It was all ok now. Blades was subtly trying to deactivate his recharge alarm. Hey, he protested, too tired to say it aloud. Ratchet needed him in the medbay. They were supposed to calibrate…something…

Hey indeed, Hot Spot rumbled in his mind, laughing. You're resting in, no arguments.

Mmmm, me too. That was Groove, helm snuggled tight against his neck.

Mmph. First Aid, still protesting, but not very much, his mind their deep calm anchor again. Hot Spot was singing to them, a corny love song, no more in tune in their minds than he was out loud. My spark, my spark was made for yours, he sang, and they giggled soundlessly together as they slipped in to recharge, because, of course, the song was true.


End file.
